


A Weekend with Uncle Eames

by prettyperversities (ellebesea)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ariadne isn’t wearing any panties, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Skeevy Uncle Eames, Snowballing, Threesome - F/M/M, pretend somnophilia, sex near sleeping parents, thigh-fucking, what is my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebesea/pseuds/prettyperversities
Summary: It’s been nearly six months since they’d last had a visit from Uncle Eames. Six long months of Arthur trying desperately not to think of his uncle, and being mostly successful. It’s not as though he can control his dreams, or those amorphous, filthy half-thoughts that cross his mind right before orgasm, right? And now, here he is, thinking about those sinfully plump lips all over again…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> y’all, I deeply want to claim to not know where this came from, but that’d be a str8 up lie. My mind is an unforgivably dirty place. This fic contains sexual content between underage siblings and an older relative (Ariadne is 15, Arthur is 16, and Eames is 30-sumn). Consider yourself warned.
> 
> There are three parts to this, and potentially a prequel.

ONE.

 

Arthur looks up from his nearly completed book report to find Ariadne standing in the open doorway, the tips of her red Converse All-Stars not quite crossing the threshold of his room. He’s mildly surprised to see her at all; Arthur and his sister do not spend time in one another’s rooms these days, not since- well. Not in a while, anyway. Given that, Arthur can only assume she’s here to pass on a message from their parents. “What’s up?” he asks, carefully averting his eyes and doing his best to appear busy.

Ariadne hesitates for another moment or two, which is Arthur’s first clue that this isn’t something normal like his Mom reminding him that he’d left his clothes in the dryer too long again. His second clue is the way she’s biting the corner of her lip nervously. Frankly her nerves are starting to make him anxious, but he waits silently.

Finally, she blurts, “Uncle Eames is coming to visit.”

Arthur’s eyes shoot up to meet Ari’s gaze. It’s been nearly six months since they’d last had a visit from Uncle Eames. Six long months of Arthur trying desperately not to think of his uncle, and being mostly successful. It’s not as though he can control his dreams, or those amorphous, filthy half-thoughts that cross his mind right before orgasm, right? And now, here he is, thinking about those sinfully plump lips all over again…

Ariadne, who has always been far too observant for Arthur’s peace of mind, steps into Arthur’s room and shuts the door behind her. “Arthur, what…?” she asks, dark eyebrows raised high.

Blushing, Arthur clears his throat. “Oh, yeah?” he responds, a minute too late and falling desperately short of casual. He winces at how transparent he likely is right now.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Ariadne answers sardonically, moving to sit on Arthur’s neatly-made bed.

(Arthur definitively does not think about how he’d sat exactly there this morning and jerked off.)

“Is there something you’d like to tell me about Uncle Eames, big bro?” She’s wearing her favorite red flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, and several buttons undone. She’s also wearing a tiny pair of cutoff jean shorts, and Arthur really _is_ her big brother so it’s somewhat shameful that he has to exert so much effort to look away from her creamy white legs.

“I- nothing,” Arthur blusters, thrown. She’s in his room. She’s _sitting on his bed_. They haven’t- they don’t spend time alone together, not since that time last summer that they’d been bored and started wrestling over the TV remote and had gotten unforgivably, inexcusably carried away. But it’s probably best not to dwell on that right now.

Ariadne stares at him, hard. He avoids her gaze until he can’t anymore. “Arthur,” she starts, and that’s it, the whole sordid story is about to come spilling out, only she goes on: “The last time he was here, Uncle Eames watched me touch myself.”

“What?” Arthur bursts out. It feels like it should be a shout but in reality, it’s much closer to a whisper. He is thoroughly aware that he should be alarmed, horrified, and disgusted to hear this. Maybe he should even be jealous, but. He subtly scoots his chair further under his desk, obscuring his lap from Ari’s view.

She sees this, of course. Sometimes Arthur thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, wanting his sister, if only she were polite enough to not notice. Miraculously, though, she chooses not to comment. “Well, you know how Mom and Dad always fall asleep half-way through any movie they put on.” Here, they both roll their eyes. Their parents are so damn predictable. “I was slouched in the armchair with a blanket in my lap and I just started think about whether I could get off without anyone noticing. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I started getting- well, wet,” she says, swallowing and watching Arthur intently. She knows she’s crossed an unspoken line, but she won’t try to backpedal unless Arthur makes her.

It’s sweet that she thinks he has the power to deny her anything. Mostly, Arthur’s thinking about Ariadne’s wet pussy, about Uncle Eames catching her in the act, about him licking his gorgeous lips and not stopping her. “And then you realize he’s watching you,” he prompts, voice cracking in the middle.

Ariadne shrugs, grinning. “Took me a while to notice. Then I looked up and he was staring at me, all intense grey eyes and affected slouch, huge boner tenting his pants.” She isn’t exaggerating; it really is huge. “And by then, I’d already been caught, right? I figured, why stop?” She pauses, gauging his reaction, and then finishes in a rush: “I came so hard.”

Arthur is so busy biting back the things he definitely knows he should not say, that Ariadne starts to look worried again.

“Arthur?” she asks uncertainly.

“Yeah,” he says, trying and failing not to think of Ari’s squirming hips, or her bitten back moans, or the way she’d shuddered underneath him last year when he’d made her come in her pants on the living room floor.

“Too weird?” she asks, though how she thinks Arthur has any room to judge is beyond him.

Protectiveness surges through him, and suddenly he’s blurting out whatever might make his badass little sister feel less small, less insecure. “Uncle Eames fucked my mouth on Christmas while I was asleep,” he says, and just saying it aloud makes his dick jerk.

Ariadne’s mouth drops open and her eyes darken visibly. “What?” she squeaks, a hand dropping to her lap.

“I fell asleep with my head in his lap,” he rasps, watching her rub herself through her shorts. God, are they really doing this? “And when I woke up, something hot and hard was pressing against my lips. I don’t know why, but I felt so good and he smelled so nice, I just kept my eyes closed and let my mouth drop open. He tugged my chin down and slid the head of his cock right into my mouth.” Arthur grasps his cock through his pants. The memory alone has been known to get Arthur off in 5 minutes flat, but seeing Ari get turned on by the story is more than he can bear. “You’re right, Ari, it’s fucking huge. He was only fucking a few inches in and out of my mouth and it was so much.”

Ariadne pops the button on her shorts, slides down the zip, and sticks her entire hand inside.

He watches her hand move avidly, stroking himself all the while. “I probably wasn’t that good at pretending to be asleep, it was just so good, and I started sucking, bobbing my head just a little.” Uncle Eames had given a strangled hum when Arthur had swiped his tongue across his slit. “And he just. Kept going. Then he came in my mouth.”

Ariadne whimpers and thrusts against her own hand. “Did you swallow?”

“Some of it. The rest of it dribbled out, across my lips, down my cheek,” he admits, remembering how wonderfully filthy it had made him feel. How Uncle Eames had groaned at the sight. “It was so hard to keep my eyes closed, but I rolled onto my back and licked and smacked my lips like I was still asleep. He whispered that I was a ‘dirty boy’ and grabbed my cock through my pajamas. I came pretty quickly after that.”

Ariadne’s hand is moving fast now, and her eyes keep fluttering shut. “God, I want to see it.”

Arthur groans, squeezing his dick. To his shame, he wants her to see it too.

“Wanna see him fuck you,” she mutters, rather unexpectedly, and Arthur comes hard, shooting off inside his sweatpants.

“Jesus, Ari,” Arthur pants. “You want to watch our uncle fuck me with his big cock? I thought for sure you’d just want to sit in his lap and ride him until he burst.” And then Ariadne tenses all over, biting her lips and shaking through her orgasm.

When their breaths even out, they’re left messy and staring at one another. Are they going to go back to avoiding one another? Or, and Arthur feels a thrill go through him at the thought, will they find some other way of coping with everything they’ve said and done?

He licks his lips, choosing his words carefully. “So, when is Uncle Eames coming?”

“In an hour,” Ariadne replies, and smirks when he jerks upright in shock.

“But…” Their parents are leaving for a conference first thing in the morning. Ariadne nods knowingly.

They’re going to be alone with Uncle Eames all damn weekend.


	2. two

 

TWO.

Ariadne, herstorically wily and underhanded, gets first shower. By the time Arthur’s raced through his own shower and gotten dressed, he can see Uncle Eames’ rental car pulling up in front of the house through his window. They’d agreed to pretend all was normal, but Arthur can’t help but put on his nicest jeans and a short-sleeved navy button down with little white anchors embroidered on. He forgoes shoes, as he can’t exactly pass off the wearing of loafers in his own home as casual. And maybe he’d be embarrassed by his own enthusiasm if Ariadne wasn’t wearing an actual _dress_ and cute little sandals as she shoves him aside and races downstairs ahead of him.

They yank open the door before Uncle Eames even has an opportunity to ring the bell, and he stands on the front porch looking both mildly surprised and highly pleased. He’s wearing his usual poorly-fitting suit and he hasn’t shaven for a day or two, and Arthur dearly wishes he had better taste, but saliva builds in his mouth just looking at him. Uncle Eames is so unbelievably hot. “My favorite niece!” he exclaims, as always.

“Your _only_ niece,” Ariadne corrects, rolling her eyes and tugging him into the house by hand. “Hi, Uncle Eames,” she says, going up on tiptoe to throw her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.

Arthur shuts the door quickly, watching Uncle Eames's hands drop to Ariadne’s lower back, and then a little bit lower. And then lower still, briefly cupping Ari’s ass with both hands.

Ariadne just laughs and presses a lingering kiss or two to his cheek. Once Uncle Eames gets in a good squeeze, he releases her and extends his arms to Arthur. “My favorite nephew!” he greets with a crooked grin, voice a little gravelly.

Arthur allows himself to be drawn in close, retorting, “I’d better be.” He takes Ari’s lead and lays a kiss just slightly too close to Uncle Eames’s perfect lips. When Uncle Eames’s hands slip down to Arthur’s ass, Arthur makes sure to rub his half-hard dick against his uncle’s muscled thigh. It feels _good_ , and he wants more, but he can hear his parents coming down the stairs. He pulls away regretfully, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Such a warm welcome,” Uncle Eames murmurs, grey eyes alight and pleased.

“We missed you, Uncle Eames,” Ariadne says, all coy innocence and pouty mouth.

 

This weekend will be interesting, Arthur thinks.

 

\--

 

He’s wrong, at first. The evening starts off the same as any other visit from Uncle Eames, with their parents being boring and making terrible jokes, and Uncle Eames making worse jokes back. Arthur helps with dinner and Ariadne cleans up and sets the table. The adults have wine with dinner, getting looser and more comfortable with each glass. After dinner, they chat for ages without managing to say anything of interest, and then they put on a movie. It doesn’t much matter whether it’s action or horror or comedy: their parents will watch from the loveseat with drooping eyes, leaning more and more against one another until they inevitably nod off.

This time, though, Arthur doesn’t run off upstairs as soon as their eyes close, and Ariadne doesn’t sequester herself to the armchair. They sit on the couch, on either side of Uncle Eames, a blanket draped across their laps. He’s been keyed up for hours – months, really – so when Uncle Eames’s hand lands on Arthur’s crotch, he’s already completely hard. Uncle Eames seems surprised, and then doubly so moments later, so Arthur can only assume he’s found Ariadne equally aroused.

“Bloody hell,” Uncle Eames mutters, and pushes down as Arthur thrusts up against his hand. It’s not as good through his jeans as it had been through his pajamas at Christmas, so Arthur unbuttons his fly and takes out his cock for his uncle to stroke. Uncle Eames curses again, drawing his hand above the blanket and licking it nice and wet before grabbing Arthur’s cock firmly.

Arthur is fighting really damn hard to be quiet, but Uncle Eames’s bare hand on his cock feels phenomenal, and he’s frantically bucking his hips into the tight grip. On the other end of the couch, Ariadne lets out a quiet whimper, and Jesus he’s close already. He can’t believe the audacity of Uncle Eames, to feel them both up right under the noses of their parents, one hand up Ari’s dress and the other down Arthur’s pants, and then suddenly Arthur holds himself very still and concentrates all of his effort on staying silent through the most powerful orgasm he’s experienced to date. It feels like he comes for ages, and it’s absolutely brilliant. Before he can consider cleaning up, though, his father lets out a snore that startles both himself and his wife awake.

Arthur goes with his first instinct, shutting his eyes and forcing his entire body to go slack. He’s still dribbling come into Uncle Eames’s hand, but apparently it’s good enough to fool their half-asleep parents in the low light from the TV.

They say goodnight, inform Uncle Eames that they’ll likely be gone before he wakes in the morning, and one of them ruffles Arthur’s hair on the way out. For fuck’s sake.

The three of them wait in tense silence while lights shut off in the kitchen, the stairs creak, and finally the bedroom door clicks shut. Then Ariadne jerks into motion, tossing the blanket to the floor and climbing right into Uncle Eames’s lap. His hands automatically come up to grasp her hips, smearing Arthur’s come on it a bit. His grip tightens, clinging as Ariadne sits directly on the bulge of his cock and rubs herself against it. “Jesus,” Uncle Eames spits, and Ari just moans and keeps riding his lap. He turns his head to look at Arthur, as if to ask, ‘are you seeing this?’ but Arthur has had enough of thinking about those lips. He _needs_ a taste. He dives in for a kiss, sucking that fat lower lip into his mouth and moaning when their tongues touch. The kiss goes on for a while, and they trade control back and forth. One minute, Uncle Eames is licking deep into Arthur’s mouth, and the next, he’s sucking lewdly on Arthur’s tongue, humming with distinct pleasure.

When he pulls back, Arthur feels dazed, and Uncle Eames looks the same. They turn as one to watch the deeply arousing since of Ariadne rubbing her cunt on Uncle Eames, and Arthur can’t help but reach up and grab a perky little breast through her blue dress.

“Look at you,” Uncle Eames says, voice like gravel. “Dirty girl. Just waiting until your parents leave the room so you can jump into Uncle Eames’s lap and make a sticky mess of his trousers, weren’t you?” Ariadne just moans in response, and Arthur finds himself lifting up the hem of her dress to see her naked pussy pressed against the fat lump of their uncle’s cock in those horrid beige slacks. “You’ve made me rock hard, and now you tease me whilst you get yours, is that it?” Ariadne speeds up, rolling her hips harder and biting her lips. “You don’t care if your brother sees or not, do you? Where are your knickers, you dirty girl?” he asks, and just like that, she’s coming. Arthur leaps up to muffle her moans with his hand, while Uncle Eames just clutches her hips and thrusts up against her until she’s quivering and whimpering.

Arthur pets her hair while she calms down. A few minutes later, Uncle Eames easily lifts her out of his lap and sets her back on the couch. Arthur stands there, cock hanging out of his open fly, and stares. Uncle Eames’s pants are drenched and deliciously tented. Arthur should probably be embarrassed, but when Uncle Eames raises a single eyebrow at him, he falls to his knees and starts tonguing the mess Ari’s left behind. He opens his mouth across the outline of Uncle Eames’s cock and sucks. Arthur moans and keeps sucking, more turned on than he has ever been. Uncle Eames groans in response, hips jerking, and he feels Ariadne’s fingers slip into his hair and tug. Arthur allows himself to be pulled away, looking up at his sister.

Ari leans down and just like that they’re kissing. Jesus, he’s kissing his sister right in front of their uncle, but she only fucks her tongue into his mouth for a moment or two before she pulls away. “Take it out,” she tells him, and there’s no question what she means. “I want to see you suck him.”

Arthur looks up at Uncle Eames, who looks drunk, nearly overwhelmed with lust. He smiles and reaches for Uncle Eames’s fly. It takes some deft unclasping, unbuttoning, and unzipping, but it’s not long before Arthur has Uncle Eames’s hot, thick cock in his hand. It’s just as big as he’d recalled, 8.5 inches at the very least, and delectably fat. Arthur licks the foreskin thoughtfully, then drags it back and licks the weeping head of his uncle’s dick.

A string of hilariously British curses spills from Uncle Eames’s mouth, and that’s all the encouragement Arthur needs to open wide and suck the tip into his mouth. This angle’s quite an improvement over the last time, and Arthur finds that he can take more than just a couple inches this time around. Not much more though, he finds when he goes too far and chokes. Uncle Eames groans, hips rolling a little, and Arthur pulls off, breathes deeply, and dives back in with gusto. Careful to keep his teeth out of the way, he slathers his tongue across every inch he can reach. Frankly, his jaw is starting to hurt, but his cock is rock hard, and the sounds Uncle Eames is attempting to muffle are driving him crazy.

Ariadne moans, and Arthur blinks his eyes open to see that she’s flipped her dress up and spread her legs wide. Uncle Eames has two fingers buried inside her and she’s squirming her hips deliciously while rubbing circles on her clit. She grins and Arthur and asks, “Can I have some?” She’s probably asked him that a thousand times, whether it be candy from Halloween or ice cream once she’d finished her own, and he’d always said the same thing.

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur replies, true to form, popping off Uncle Eames’s cock and laying a lewd kiss against the tip. Ari slides off the couch and kneels down next to her older brother, leaning forward when he tilts their uncle’s spit-slicked cock toward her mouth.

She swipes her tongue across the head of Uncle Eames’s dick, looking up at him coyly. Arthur keeps his hand around the base and jerks slowly while Ari sucks the tip into her mouth and then pulls off again. She licks a long stripe up, sucks the head into her mouth, and then lets go again. And then again.

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Uncle Eames hisses, hips pumping with the movement of Arthur’s hand. Ari tilts her head just so and sucks and licks at the side of Uncle Eames’s dick, shooting a look at Arthur.

Jesus bloody Christ is right, Arthur thinks. Just how much porn has his little sister been watching? But his cock gives an enthusiastic jerk, and Arthur gives in to her silent demand. He tilts his head in the other direction, leans in, and licks and kisses the other side of Uncle Eames’s cock, and Uncle Eames’s cursing takes on a desperate edge as he watches both of them mouth at him at the same time. His eyelids flutter and he threads his hands in both of their hair, drawing them up and down his dick.

“Dirty, absolutely filthy,” Uncle Eames is saying, and Ariadne moans around sucking kisses. “So hungry for your Uncle Eames’s cock are we? Go on, then. Kiss your brother round my prick,” he instructs, which.

Well, Arthur isn’t entirely sure that’s feasible, but Ari draws up to the head, licking it like a lollipop, and Arthur pulls up to do the same on the other side. Their tongues meet on every other stroke and seriously, this is the dirtiest thing he’s ever done, and he thinks he might come just like this, but then Uncle Eames is swearing and thrusting up and spurting come into their open mouths. Ari tugs Arthur into an utterly filthy open-mouthed kiss, come dripping out of their mouths and down their chins.

“Fucking hell,” Uncle Eames says, sounding awed. “Come here, you little sluts. Sit on Uncle Eames’s lap.” They climb up obediently, each straddling a thigh. Uncle Eames tugs Ariadne in for a dirty kiss, licking his own come from her chin and lips, and Arthur shamelessly rubs his cock against his thigh. When it’s Arthur’s turn to get cleaned up, he sucks on Uncle Eames’s tongue and thrusts against his leg once, twice, and comes again. His come stripes those ugly pants and Arthur can’t help but feel vindicated that they’ll probably never again be suitable for wear.

The kiss turns lazy, and they only really stop when Ariadne yawns from very nearby. An insult about her bedtime is on the tip of his tongue, but he thinks it would say much more about him and Uncle Eames than anything, so he refrains.

“Well, kids, I know you want to stay up with fun Uncle Eames, but it’s time to get ready for bed,” Uncle Eames says, like he can’t help himself. It’s sort of disturbing, but vaguely comforting at the same time. He and Ariadne go upstairs and change into their pajamas, and they stand side by side and brush their teeth in the bathroom. Instead of making faces at each other in the mirror though, Ari stares at his reflection with a supremely satisfied expression, and she looks so smug that he can’t help but pinch her nipple through her top.

When Arthur gets back downstairs, he finds that Uncle Eames has already unfolded the couch and made the bed for him. He always does this; Arthur’s parents traditionally insist that Arthur sleep here whenever Uncle Eames visits, and he probably feels guilty about taking Arthur’s bed.

Why he would feel guilty about taking Arthur’s bed, but not about taking Arthur’s mouth-virginity, the world may never know.

Turning off the light, Arthur flops down on the bed, stuffs a pillow under his head, and is asleep within seconds.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE. 

An undetermined amount of time later, Arthur startles awake. It’s dark, and he’s lying on his stomach. He shifts a bit, taking a moment to figure out exactly what woke him, and realizes several things in quick succession. First, that there is a pillow under his hips. Second, that his pajama pants have been tugged down, his ass sticking up in the open air. Third, and perhaps most importantly: he can feel warm puffs of air against his exposed ass. 

 _Jesus_ , Arthur thinks  sluggishly,  _is he seriously-_  

A pair of soft lips press a gentle, almost chaste kiss to his hole, so, yes, Uncle Eames is seriously going to eat him out right now. Arthur’s hips jerk involuntarily at the realization, and Uncle Eames places a decidedly dirtier kiss in the same spot.  

“Oh, God,” Arthur moans, face hot, as Uncle Eames’s tongue swipes hot and wet across his hole.  Uncle Eames hums with apparent amusement, and even that makes Arthur’s hips hump forward into the pillow and then back against Uncle Eames’s mouth. His uncle keeps going, licking broad, long strokes, and Arthur has to stuff the corner of his blanket into his mouth to muffle the filthy, needy noises that keep spilling out. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Uncle Eames says, sounding fond and delighted, and not at all afraid of getting caught. Arthur can feel the breeze of his words ghost across his wet crack and he shudders under the sensation. “I knew you’d be like this.” And he dives back in, licking stripes and circles and humming all the while. When the tip of Uncle Eames’s tongue actually pushes  _inside_  Arthur, he thrashes and fumbles to get a hand on his own cock. Uncle Eames’s hand slides underneath him instead, and he just keeps fucking in and out of Arthur with his tongue,  _humming_ _into_  Arthur’s ass. Really, Arthur can only take so much of this. It's so dirty and so freaking hot at the same time, and he’s only human. He ruts against his uncle’s hand a few more times, Uncle Eames’s tongue pushing even deeper, and then he comes so hard he sees stars.  

He lies there for a while, dazed and out of breath, and then he feels Uncle Eames’s big hands spreading something oily between his thighs. Arthur’s not entirely certain where this is going, but shivers a little with anticipation anyway. Uncle Eames crawls up to lay on top of Arthur, slipping his fat cock between Arthur’s legs and pushing them closed around it. He thrusts in and out and  _holy shit_. 

Arthur spits out the corner of the blanket and blurts, “Oh my God,” several times in succession. He knows he probably sounds stupid, but it’s not like he can help himself. It feels fucking amazing, and he instinctively squeezes his thighs around Uncle Eames’s dick. Uncle Eames moans directly into Arthur’s ear and starts fucking between his legs a little harder, a little faster. Their skin slaps together in the quiet room, and the legs of Arthur’s makeshift bed scrape along the hardwood floor a little. The audio-sensory experience feels so much like actually getting fucked by Uncle Eames, and just the thought of Uncle Eames’s dick being where his tongue so recently was makes Arthur start to babble, “Yeah, God, Uncle Eames, fuck me.” 

Uncle Eames seems to approve of this talk, if the frantic slamming of his hips against Arthur’s ass is anything to go by. 

Arthur goes on, isn’t even sure if he can stop at this point: “I want it, want you to fuck me with your big cock. Want you inside.” 

“Yeah, you want Uncle Eames’s fat prick inside your pert little arse?” Uncle Eames hisses into Arthur’s ear.  

“Yes, fuck,  _please.”_  

It shouldn’t be so hot that Uncle Eames refers to himself in the third person during sex, but he’s also moaning and whispering Arthur’s name and sliding his dick slickly between Arthur’s legs. His hips speed up and then suddenly he pulls back, kneeling and coming in hot stripes across Arthur’s ass. His groans are somewhat muffled, like maybe he’s biting his perfect lips in order to keep quiet. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant,” Uncle Eames says after a minute or so, trailing his fingers through the mess he’s made. Arthur preens. 

When he’s finally done playing with his own come, Uncle Eames’s fingers pull away and Arthur can hear the shuffling of clothing. Then he’s being cleaned off, possibly with Uncle Eames’s t-shirt. Suddenly uncertain of the appropriate code of behavior, Arthur decides to even out his breathing and pretend to be asleep.  

When Uncle Eames poses a quiet, “Arthur?” Arthur lets out the most unconvincing snore of his life. Uncle Eames laughs outright, and very kindly does not mention the huge grin on Arthur’s supposedly sleeping face as he removes the filthy pillow from underneath Arthur and puts his pajamas to rights. He even goes so far as to tuck Arthur in, but is sure to follow it up with a dirty, tongue-filled kiss to Arthur’s supposedly sleeping mouth.  

Arthur listens to his steps receding upstairs, but is (actually) asleep before the door to his room clicks shut. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
